The Mighty Fall: Birthright
by gimmickpuppets
Summary: Kaito, a young Prince, rules his land with his family when evil magic finds its way into the court. Kaito finds himself trapped with a foot in two worlds. One leads him to save his brother, and the other to save his kingdom. With a wedding to an esteemed prince and an affair with his exiled brother, the Necromancer, Kaito finds it harder to battle his own demons.
1. Prologue

There's something about winter that makes it uneasy to stand still for too long. The cold is bitter and it chaps his lips, which don't seem to moisten no matter how many times he licks them. The snow melts under his fingertips, blackened earth exposing the deep scars of its history to him while he traces the same path over and over. This is what it must be like to be stuck in limbo between two extraordinary states of being. Rather, this is how it must feel to be Haruto, so broken beneath a soft surface that so easily melts away.

Fire stirs in the torches. Kaito relaxes his hand.

It's time for the new year to begin and nothing had changed since the year before or the one before that. There's no pause to the endless monotone of his life and yet somewhere in the lessons and the nights spent at Haruto's bedside there's a brief period of time in which he feels wild and free from the golden rings on his fingers and it's in that time there is something more than this.

Tall ships skim the horizon and a violet sky breaks into red to touch the false ships and turn them to trees with the first light of dawn.  
His future stares back at him though he doesn't see it. He feels it - sense the way the wind moves and wonders how much longer he can keep up his mask before the courts.

Dawn has broken.  
Yet there is no joy at a new day.


	2. One (Kaito)

Court is dismissed early again. Kaito's breathes a silent prayer to the gods above for not having to sit through another long hour of useless blabbering. It's not that these things are useless, in fact, Kaito thinks far from it. What's useless is how Faker drags out matters of war with neighbouring countries as if it were a sensible topic to discuss. The financial situation of the country and their current relations with the Arclight's made for uneasy affairs on all sides and it was probably best to avoid starting fires in places they couldn't put it out. Still, Faker insisted…  
Kaito pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs slowly while he tries to settle his head and stop the oncoming headache from getting any worse. Between that and the heavy chest pains his day so far had been nothing short of miserable and that was being generous on the matter.

"Prince, will you be attending dinner tonight?"

Kaito looks up (he scolds himself inwardly for having been looking at the ground) and takes in Gauche's form standing by the doors of the main hall and lifts his chin ever so slightly. "I don't feel too well, and I have to see to Haruto. I'm sure I won't be missed." His tone is dry, something that draws Gauche's attention.

"You're sneaking out again."

"A Prince does not _sneak_ I simply have _business_ and you'll do well to remember that your place is to listen to my orders. Are you a member of my guard or not?" Kaito sighs inwardly and presses his fingers to his temples in exasperation, rubbing slow circles and forgetting formalities. "Isn't your wife with child? You should be with her, not here."

"Droite isn't a weak woman. If I recall she saved your life in battle more than once. She's an honourable member of your guard and you would do well, Prince, to remember that." Gauche purses his lips and bows his head after a moment. "Though if you would be so kind, I'd like to spend the evening with her."

Kaito nods and waves his hand in the direction of the doors. "Go, then. I dismiss you for the evening. Be certain to return in the morning for the morning report. I hear we have news from Sargasso arriving soon in regards to Prince Durbe's proposal of meeting with King Nasch to discuss the state of our kingdoms. Having to listen to… my father deal with these things is sure to be scene you'll want to be there for." Kaito gives a sharp nod and continues down the hall before Gauche can speak again. His head is throbbing and he doesn't want to continue to deal with conversation. At this rate he's certain he's bound to either snap or draw his sword - neither of which would be ideal at the moment (no amount of hacking at things got rid of his headaches, anyway).  
No, he was a proper Prince unlike his tyrant father.

He stops when that thought strikes him, that he so easily pins his father a tyrant. He's not wrong to think it. He knows what Faker is - he knows his choice to use the crest of his mother and her family name is a major act of defiance against Faker's crown and he continues to pay for it dearly under the hand of his advisor.  
Kaito's knuckles turn white when his thoughts turn to Heartland (he dismisses the thought as quickly as it comes - there's time to dwell on his mentor later). He slams his chamber door shut and rips the crown off his head, throwing it down on his bed sheets and striping off his court robes. Gauche knows about this - the nights he slips out of the castle to ride out into the forests. He's sometimes even helped him get through the gates without the rest of the guard seeing him.

Kaito changes as quickly as he can while ignoring the stacks of scrolls and books on the desk, tasks from Heartland he's sure. Readings of past kings and lore and - it doesn't even matter what it is it's bound to be garbage. The hand of the kingdom was too heavy, and Kaito shouldered that burden in silence, denying the claim that he would fall into his Faker's nature of ruling with fear and imposing his power to make the lives of his people miserable. Kaito needed to be the king they all deserved.  
A good king. A just king.

He shouldn't even be a king at all, really. The lifestyle never suited him.  
(_That's an entirely different matter to deal with…_)

Kaito drums his fingers over his desk for a moment before he throws his riding cloak over his shoulders and exits his chambers, the soft leathers of his boots making little sound as he hurries toward the side passage to get to the stables. He stops for a moment, hovering on the edge of the hall, feet dancing on the spot in a near child-like manner when he shakes his head and hurries back in the same direction he'd just come from, striding past his door and entering through one just up a ways nearly tucked into the corner. Kaito takes the stairs two at a time up the winding tower and tugs at the cord around his neck to free the silver key hanging around his neck and tucked under his collar.

It's quiet as ever when he enters his brother's room, knocking to alert him of his presence. "Haruto?" Kaito shuts the door quietly and walks the length of the large circular room to the bed in which his brother is asleep in, curled up in his blankets and clutching the fabric toy - a blue kitten - Kaito had bought him in the market years ago.  
Back when he'd still been able to walk hand-in-hand with Kaito… back when he'd been full of life and wonder and… and curiosity for the world around him.

Now he was broken.

Kaito pushes Haruto's bangs back and leans in to kiss his forehead. The boy stirs, blinking his wide golden eyes up at Kaito and lifting his head off the pillows with a small groan. "Brother…?"

"Easy. Don't move too fast," he whispers, smiling while he tugs the blankets up to cover him and settle him back into his sleeping position. "I'm going out for a ride tonight. Tomorrow morning we'll go to the gardens if you're feeling well." He touches the rough skin forming over Haruto's cheek and swallows thickly at the sight of Haruto's hands which are turning violet at the tips and beginning to claw. The decay of magic in his blood…  
"I didn't mean to disturb your sleep. Get some rest. We can play tomorrow."  
It's a lie. They never play, and Haruto's never well. Yet he promises… He promises because he loves him and wants to give him something to reach for and hold on to. Hope. No matter how small.

"Be careful," Haruto mumbles into his plush toy, shutting his eyes. "Brother… I feel sick and hot. It hurts."

"I know… I know. I'll fix you soon. I promise." Kaito presses another kiss to Haruto's forehead and stands, watching him for several minutes until he's certain he's asleep. Kaito hears the chatter in the halls below and knows he can't exit through the side entrance to the gardens. He opens the small window and gazes out past the walls and into the line of trees that marks the forest, the low-hanging moon casting a glow over the misty horizon of the mountain range separating them from the northern cold. As he's done a dozen times before, he swings one leg over the edge of the window and eases himself out onto the lip of the decorative stones, closing the shutters and scaling his way down with the aid of loose stones to the lower roof of the main hall. Ducking low, he hurries along the edge down to the east end of the hall. He drops again onto a smaller rooftop of the attached kitchen, rolling with the slight impact and paying no mind to the small sting of pain in his shoulder while he judges the distance to the ground.  
With a planned jump, he lands in the straw cart near the kitchen doors and pulls himself out, being mindful to brush himself off while he cuts his path toward the stables.

No guards. No Faker. He's close enough to -

"It's a bit late for a ride, isn't it, Prince?"

"After court, I find it relaxing. Just as you find your studies soothing for your nerves, Christopher."

Kaito turns to face the eldest Arclight without missing a beat, bowing his head and motioning for him to rise from the low bow he returns. "I suppose we should stop being so formal," he adds with a sigh. "You are our honoured guests here. There's no need to address me by title." Though he itches to leave, Kaito knows he'll always stop to make time for the young alchemist, and esteemed son of Byron. He was, after all, the future ruler of the north and would be a strong leader to the people of Heriter just as his father had always been.  
Keeping their alliance to the north was key. Anyone could see that.

"I will drop the title only if you stop calling me Christopher. It sounds so old, and I've yet a wrinkle to mark my skin," he teases gently. Chris extends his hand, to which Kaito does the same and allows Chris to kiss his gloved knuckles. Heat flares in his ears and down to his collarbones, and Kaito looks away with a low cough. "I wasn't aware you were so keen on running across rooftops. I come back from riding with Mihael to find you playing with the birds in the tower.

Kaito's jaw tightens and he ignores Chris's last statement.  
"Your show of thanks is appreciated… Chris. But I would like to get going. Thrasher gets restless if I ride too late." He feels a tightness in his hand and heat flares up his arm. He snatches his hand back and bites back a curse, excusing himself and hurrying away toward the stable. Chris's confused expression sticks with him until he reaches the stalls and a much more concerning wave of heat passes over his arm and up his shoulder.  
He's grateful that Chris doesn't follow him inside to saddle up, and he's even more grateful that he doesn't pass him as he rides out.

He's waited for far too long on this ride out into the wilds and perhaps it's for that reason the anxiety in Kaito's chest rises. His heart throbs against his ribs and leaps into his throat when the fire spirals up though his fingers and to his shoulder where he feels the skin tighten painfully. His spine threatens to bow and there's a strong discomfort crawling over his jaw. Harder and harder he rides through the old trail he knows too well and feels the grip of the the wilds holding him by the throat.  
In these woods, he is a victim to the very earth itself.

The wilds… Forests that no man could ever hope to claim. Kaito had told Haruto all sorts of stories growing up about the creatures living in the forest - from unicorns to imps and even faeries. They'd spoken of the dark rivers where mermaids passed from ocean to ocean and Kaito spun legends he'd been told as a boy about the land and the mysteries that hid within the mist each morning where only the tops of the trees could be seen.  
Stories he would hold on to for dear life, praying to one day show his brother all the old haunts he'd come to know. The hollow tree where he used to play, and the flat stones one could use to walk across the river without getting their clothes wet. The fields between long stretches of evergreens and the flowers that only bloomed in the moonlight.

Thrasher stops suddenly, jostling Kaito from his thoughts. He tugs at the reins and digs his heels into Thrasher's side but he doesn't move, only stamps anxiously at the ground and paces over what seems to be an invisible barrier. The horse trembles under Kaito's hands, making softly noises that seem almost like whimpers.  
Kaito turns his head to look around but the dense thicket gives no indication of what could be startling Thrasher. He fixes his stare ahead again and sucks in a sharp breath. On the path there's a…. a man - something - blocking his way. Wild, covered in fur and completely still, standing in the mist as if they're a part of it. The man moves - Thrasher rears up and Kaito meets darkness when his head hits the cold earth.

Leaves crunch. The man kneels by his side.

"Wrong path."

The smell of sage and cooking meat brings Kaito back to a world of sound and colour. He groans and sits up, one hand finding the furs wrapped around his shoulder and tugging them closer for warmth. The dry air around him is filled with all sorts of spices and the orange lighting is easy on his eyes after coming to. This isn't the first time he's woken up in this hut tucked away in the trees. Kaito blinks to clear his vision and gasps when a set of not-quite-red eyes stare back from under the mask of a cougar, pelt draped back over the man's head and shoulders.

"Damnit, Thomas!"

He yanks the pelt off of Thomas and throws it down on the floor. "You nearly got me killed. Again! Don't you have anything better to do than stalk the woods?"

Thomas steps back with his hands raised, chuckling while he turns on his heel toward the pot of stew. "Easy now, Prince. I was only reminding you not to follow the wrong path into the hands of feral imps and goblins, perhaps even a giant spider or two!" Thomas wiggles his fingers and grins his lopsided grin that Kaito has come to find almost as charming as it is annoying.  
He moves with such fluid motions and quickly, too, closing the space between them when he rests one hand on the seat and the other on the wall just behind Kaito's head. Thomas drags his fingers up the side of Kaito's thigh and he meets his stare head-on.  
"What could bring such an _enchanting_ being to my humble little home?"

Kaito takes the hand that's wandered to his hip and plucks it off his skin. "It's been a full cycle and I'm in need of your potions, unless you've forgotten our deal. Which… by that smile… tells me you have not." Kaito lifts his hand to Thomas's chin, cupping it and brushing his thumb over his bottom lip. "Exiled vermin. Sorcerer… Necromancer. Have you had your fun in teasing me with such things? I pay you good coin for your work, not to play dress up and scare my horse."

The fire cracks and hisses, and Thomas straightens to cross the room to his table of various herbs and pots and what Kaito thinks might be a dead rabbit half-skinned. As he's used to, Thomas hands him a flask of murky liquid and Kaito pops the cork and drinks it without hesitation. He's used to the burnt smell of it and how it tastes like ash and salt.  
"Until another cycle, then."  
Despite his words, Kaito leans back in his furs and crosses his ankles with no intentions of leaving just yet. "You have a look in your eyes. You mean to ask me something?" Kaito drums his fingers over the furs again. "Your fingers may continue if you so please."

"Eager to warm my bed tonight, Prince?"

"Stop calling me that." He accepts the warmth of Thomas's body next to his own, even though he scowls. "I don't ever recall this being part of our arrangement. You're deflecting. Distract me or speak to me."

"Your potion needs time to settle. I won't risk the scars, anyway." Thomas's lips ghost close to Kaito's and for a moment it's occurs to him that he's far too deep in his secrets. All of this - this hiding… this sneaking and taking potions and as of late this bedding of a wild sorcerer…  
None of this had been planned and yet here he was. Those thoughts, however, come to a sharp end when Thomas pulls away to stand and speak again.  
"I hear my family is staying with you as guests. How nice that must be. Aren't they just a charming bunch? Byron especially."

"You've never told me why Byron exiled you." Curiosity bites. Kaito takes it all too eagerly. "You've been on edge since they arrived, even in your letters. Care to explain?"

Thomas sits at his work table, palms flat against the wood while he contemplates an answer. Kaito studies the set of his brow and the way he sinks his teeth into his lower lip before some decision is reached.  
"A night for tales, then? I'll get the wine." Thomas casts a last glance over his shoulder and props his chin up on his hand. "A story for a story. I want to know why you are, Prince of Hatoasu. I want to know why Faker didn't spill your newborn blood all over the floor the day you crawled out of the womb of you wretched mother. I want to know how it is you haven't been devoured by your own demons."

"Thomas," Kaito warns. "Don't -"

"Tell me, Kaito," he breathes while leaning forward on his knees, eyes narrowed and a wicked grin curling over his lips.  
"Tell me how it is Faker's hidden a_ dragon_ for all these years."


	3. Two (Kaito)

Kaito gives in to the way Thomas draws his thighs up, lips against his neck while he sucks and licks at the red lovebites left scattered over him. It's always like this. Before Kaito even gets the chance to say his piece, Thomas unwinds him and dirties him on his furs spread out on the dirt floor. There's never really a proper bed, Kaito doesn't suppose fucking needs any sort of thing anyway. He's warm and his scarred back feels good under Kaito's hands. He's lithe and dark and all too dangerous for Kaito to really trust. Yet for some reason he does. Somewhere in all the black coin and secrets he'd come to like this game of bedding the infamous exiled Arclight, not because it was something to do but because it was something wild. It was dangerous and reckless and god, if his father knew he wasn't pure…  
Kaito tips his head back and pulls at Thomas's hair when he bites his jaw. "If you leave marks above my collar I'll skin you."

Thomas catches his lips and sinks his teeth into Kaito's lower lip, gripping his thighs a bit harder and increasing his pace to force the furs to rub against Kaito's hips. Kaito groans and tilts his head back, arching against the leathers when Thomas lifts him to fix his angle.  
"Bold words coming from you."

"I don't pay you to talk."

"You don't pay me to fuck you."

Perhaps it's in the snark where Kaito decides that whatever this is - what… strange attraction this has become, in the end he comes back to Thomas because he's the polar opposite of what he should want. Someone like Chris. Someone of 'proper breeding'.  
Why do his thoughts move to Chris?  
Kaito groans and pushes on Thomas's shoulder and with a shared gasp there's a tight coil that releases and in the exhale, Kaito drops his head back and feels Thomas's warmth over him. The realization that this is real. Thomas is real. Chris is real.  
_Again? Really?_

When their breathing evens out, Kaito pushes Thomas back with his forearm and sits up, one hand on the furs and the other in his hair to fix his bangs. "I don't know why I let you talk me into doing this," he mutters but it's only to hide the red flare that creeps from the tips of his ears down to his neck. It feels good - the intimacy (what a terrible word to use to describe anything involving Thomas) that is - beyond that there's not much else to this. It's business. It's keeping himself from finding his head on a stone with Faker's blade on the back of his neck.  
What Thomas provides on the surplus end of their meetings isn't something he needs but he doesn't exactly mind. The physical touch - the idea of letting himself be dirtied by someone so forbidden to him thrills him even though in the back of his mind he knows it's not the right choice. It's an awful choice. Submitting to Thomas's like this removes him for a moment as a Prince.

Thomas strips him bare and forces him to look at a distorted mirror of himself. Thomas shows him his inner demons. His ugliness. In the end, Thomas destroys him and rebuilds him and in all that, Kaito wonders if this is what true freedom is like. To feel cold to the touch but on fire inside, desperately wanting to run and being able to sprint away for a short period of time from all the things that chain him to his life in the palace. Everything right now is a contradiction inside him and yet…

"You still haven't told me about your family."

"You haven't told me how you're a dragon."

"You don't give up, do you? I've told you. It's my bloodline." Kaito wants to clear his throat and move on with the conversation but Thomas looks at him from his side of the furs, propped up on one elbow and looking as if he might devour him. Despite himself, Kaito takes in his nude form, from the scars on his arms and legs to the inked patterns over his hips that disappear onto his back. He's unlike anyone else in his court, from the colour of his skin to his eyes and untamed cut of hair.  
Before he can stop himself Kaito places a hand on his hip and dares to dip it toward his inner thigh, their lips connecting for a brief moment when Kaito considers ending this conversation with a second round. Yet there's no time between the kiss and Thomas's small headbutt and obnoxious mutter of 'tell me'.

Kaito cocks a brow and reaches for his robes (this was going nowhere and Thomas wasn't going to stall for sex), tugging them over his head and sighing in frustration. "I thought it was obvious. The dragon gene existed in both bloodlines and I was a recipient. Born human and dragon. It happens… It used to. I think we all assumed the dragon blood in royals died out a long time ago and yet here I am. In the flesh." Kaito pulls on his boots and begins to lace them up slowly. "Only you and my father have seen me in that state in which I was born. That half-human… half-dragon form. My mother wouldn't look at me… she was horrified by what she saw. She claimed I was a monster."

Thomas nods slowly while he adjusts his leathers, rubbing his hand up Kaito's back while they settle back on the furs. Kaito gives in to the touch, tucking his arms under his head and shutting his eyes while Thomas does this. Half-clothed and still content, he doesn't mind this.

"Now you. Tell me why it is you are put into exile when Mereg can surrender her place to the throne to live as a sorcerer. You should have been no different."

"No. Byron has a great fear of sorcerers. He barely tolerated Chris and his alchemy. The simple fact is that it wasn't my sorcery. It was that I wasn't of Byron's blood. My mother had an affair and I was born to the sorcerer she bedded. Mihael was born to correct their marriage… to salvage her image but the fever took her after the birth and my father only tolerated me until I could survive on my own. By divine right under the banner of our new gods, I was turned out into exile and told to live on my own in the woods."  
Thomas's fingers stop on Kaito's back and he sighs as if the story winds him. "I was... adopted, you could say, by an old mage living in the woods. She was kind to me, taught me to speak a manner of languages and read and took me to market disguised as a little orphan all wrapped up in ragged cloaks. She was fond of puppets and clay dolls, my first perfected talents if I may be so bold as to say so. When she passed, I moved south of my land and into this forest here where I settled, and that's my sad little tale," he mutters.

Thomas rolls onto his back to stare up at the ceiling and exhales loudly through his nose. "You've seen my power and yet you do not fear me. Is that the mark of a prince or a fool?" he asks, fishing for his pipe by the furs. "Don't answer that, I already know. It's the mark of a fool. Shall I read your fortune in the cards again?"

Kaito plucks the unlit pipe from Thomas's mouth and sets it off to his side. "Not while I'm here. It's unhealthy and it smells awful."

"It's my home!"

"It's my fucking coin that pays for this shit."

Thomas rolls again to wrap his arm around Kaito's waist, tugging at the fine fabric around his waist and kissing his shoulder. "Something else to ease my mind, then? Or does the prince of such greatness have a limit to how much he can take in a night?"

_(How dare his lips be that tantalizing….)_  
"I'm half-dressed. I'd have to undress again and that seems like so much of an effort," mutters Kaito with a long drawl, half tempted while reason tells him he needs to get going. "Don't you have anything better to do? Making potions or turning frogs into princes for village girls?"

"I tried but they all grow up to be jackasses like you."

"I'm touched."  
Kaito rolls his eyes and stands, stumbling a bit while he fixes his robes again and buckles his sword. "Thank you for the potion. Have you found a more permanent solution to my… condition?"

"I'm still working on it. What I actually need is to see a dragon. A true dragon! They'd have the answers I need. Their magic is ancient… powerful, from a time before us. Can you imagine a time when it was just dragons? Feral beasts and fairies and -"

"Thomas, do you mind? I'm not caught up in your fantasy world the same way you are. These things don't interest me."

"Your brother would be eager to see them."

Kaito grabs his hilt of his sword and draws it in a swift motion, landing the blade inches from Thomas's neck. No matter how great Thomas's help, there were some lines that no one crossed and Haruto was one of them. Thomas is unflinching, eyes flicking down to the blade.  
"How the hell do you know about Haruto?" Panic rises in him, boiling in his throat and making his stomach tighten with raw fear. Not even the courts knew of Haruto - yet Thomas, some outcast, knew of him. How? How could such a precious piece of information have escaped so far out the palace walls?

"Lower that fucking blade."

"No. You tell me what you know about my brother." Kaito lowers his sword and sighs in anger. "He is my secret. He is the shame of my father and if you know of him then that means other might. Do you know what it would mean to have them -"

"You're overreacting."

"How do you know?" Kaito demands. "Tell me how the hell you know this."

Thomas raises his hands and scowls. "I only know that you keep him locked away in the tower." The evasiveness isn't missed and Kaito begins to raise his blade again.

"And who told you?"

"I have eyes and ears all over your town now answer me this, Prince. Is he like you, then? A dragon?" Thomas places his fingers over the lowered sword and runs his thumb over the sharp edge until it draws blood. He licks his thumb and chuckles a bit. "Two Tenjos with dragon blood… How delightfully scandalous. Your father must be so proud to know what shame lives under his roof."

"If it was that simple, it wouldn't be so bad," mutters Kaito. His eyes turn downward and turns away from Thomas, sheathing his blade. "He's like you. And me." While Kaito takes his blankets and prepares his riding cloak he hears the muffled gasp of surprise from Thomas's direction.

"He's… a sorcerer? And Dragon?"

"Yes."

"That is a fatal blood combination."

"You think I don't know that?" he yells, slamming his fist down on the worktable, rattling the various bottles and bowls of liquids and herbs, things he'd seen Thomas toss casually into boiling flasks while muttering spells and other such things. In a place of such magic, there was not an answer yet for Kaito's questions. There was no cure to save Haruto or himself.  
"I see him in pain every day. I watch his skin turn to scales and smell the burning flesh inside him. I have to save him. You have to find a way to get rid of this dragon inside both of us." Kaito clenches his fists and shuts his eyes. "Nothing else is more important. Remember that."

"Your family is not my number one concern. Do not forget that what you ask of me is a fucking favour. Your coin doesn't do me much until I go to market."

"I can tell my father you're here. I'll have you arrested and killed."

Thomas grabs Kaito's collar and slams his back against the door. Their eyes lock; Kaito doesn't flinch or move to take his blade, only meets his hard stare.  
"Don't make me laugh. Without me, you'll both die. You wouldn't risk it."

Kaito's lips twitch and he pulls Thomas's arm back. "You're right. It's one bluff I can't turn into an honest threat. But if you do fail, in the end, I will kill you."

Thomas steps back and bows low in a mocking fashion. "May my head lay upon your block of stone for my final execution. I only hope you will keep your sword sharp for that day, dear Prince."

"Mock me no further. I have to go."

"I'll ride to the edge of the forest with you," mutters Thomas, grabbing his light saddle off the floor and scowling back at Kaito. "The paths change, you know that. Don't ever think you can ride out of here without my help. You need me, like it or not."

"As you need me."

Kaito follows Thomas out the door and he takes only a brief moment to look behind him at the hole he'd built his home into out the side of an old hill. Tucked inside in the grass under roots and dirt… On the other side was a wooden house that jutted from the side, an old mill with its still turn wheel functioning as a place for Thomas to store his goods and keep up a front as a ranger in the event guards ever came by to investigate.  
When he turns to Thomas again he flinches from the sight before him, of the_ thing_ that Thomas puts his saddle on.  
"What the hell is that thing?"

"Heaven is a nightmare, thank you very much. And she takes great insult to being called a thing." Thomas mounts the mare under him, her sleek black fur looking like wet stone under the moonlight filtering through the leaves. Kaito narrows his eyes at the joints, though, which look as if they're stitched together - reanimated and sunken… _How does Thomas even deal with these…?_

What makes the big leap between Kaito's world and Thomas's is that when Thomas rides between the dirt roads carved out by sorcerers of old, the trees bend for him. They twist and spiral and their roots themselves move around him - as if he is the moon and they are stars. Thomas is wild and with no more than his presence can he make the world around him change. There's a sort of mystery to Thomas that Kaito can't quite put his finger on, as if somehow he's transcended simple mortality and become something more. Something great and yet something to fear and admire.  
Thomas's hand catches a world in his palm - he grasps it with the same wonder and determination as a child who tosses coins down wells on wishes they think will bring brighter days. What Kaito clutches to is a fragment of a broken kingdom that bites back the harder he tries to hang on.

They are two different people. Two radically different souls occupying such a small space.

"Branch!"

Kaito ducks under the low-hanging branch and narrows his eyes when Thomas veers off in another direction. "Thomas, this isn't the way back -"

"Why crash through the front doors when you can sneak through the back?" Thomas throws a wide grin over his shoulder and powers down the path with Kaito hot on his heels. The trees get dense and the path becomes more and more rough. Thrasher's hooves seem to slip when they climb toward the open space beyond the tree line toward the city. Kaito nearly cries out in warning that something of Heaven's… nature might not be overly welcome in public.  
Yet when they emerge into the moonlight beyond the forest, she looks no different than any other horse.  
Magic. Always magic.

Thomas draws up his hood and slows his pace to a walk, glancing in Kaito's direction and nodding. "See? Easy." He chuckles and straightens his back. "So. Cure your brother, then? That's my goal?"

Kaito exhales loudly through his nose and looks away. "There's plenty of healers trying to help us… But magic is stronger than medicine in times like these." Kaito stops when Thomas does, glancing over as he dismounts. "Supplies?"

"I have to start somewhere, don't I?" Thomas adjusts his cloak and pats Heaven's side. "My payment, if you don't mind?"

"You never change, do you? Same charge. Same stale taste in my mouth."

Thomas leans in against Thrasher's side and plucks the velvet purse from Kaito's fingers. "It's worked out for me so far. Why change now?" How Kaito tolerates this bizarre pattern is beyond him. They give and take - push and pull. Lovers to the largest threat to one another with nothing more than this simple knowledge of how the other came to be. Yet one could not survive without the other and that… that was something Kaito wasn't sure if he liked or not.

_There's no power. I have no control and he knows it… bastard._

Kaito digs his heels into Thrasher's side and continues on toward the gates, entering with a short word to the guards and bringing Thrasher right into the stables for the night. He takes his time cleaning up and washing his face off in the small basin in the guard station. He checks his skin for any marks (nothing under his collar as far as he can tell) and heads inside with the intention to go check on Haruto and retire for the evening.

"Out late again, I see."

Kaito stops and takes in a slow breath, trying to halt the reaction which starts his heart hammering against his ribs. Heartland's voice alone chills him - it roots him in place and makes him want to vomit. The last thing he needs is to have his father's advisor breathing down his neck wanting to know where he's been. Simple enough, Kaito doesn't trust him and he can't afford to have Heartland find out where he's been or why. Even though he was aware of Kaito's blood, if he knew where he'd been…  
Byron would find out and that wasn't an option so long as Thomas was going to help him heal Haruto.

"Kaito, you will answer me when I speak to you."

"I didn't hear a question, _Sir_." Kaito twists his head in Heartland's direction and pulls his lips back in a faint snarl. "I'm very tired. Surely you want your pupil rested." He turns and begins to walk toward his room, but is stopped by a hand on his shoulder turning him around. Heartland pins him between himself and the wall, towering over him with his fist near Kaito's head.

"Don't talk back to me. I don't take very kindly to your attitude, boy. I know you've been sneaking out… and I want to know where you've been going." His free hand takes Kaito's chin and tilts it up toward him. "What could be so important that you have to creep around like a mutt in the dark?"

"Mutts chase slimey cat burglars, don't they?"

The slap echoes around the empty hall and the tense air hangs between them. Kaito turns his head back to face him, eyes turned away. "I need to rest if you don't mind. I'm expected to be in court tomorrow." Kaito ducks under Heartland's arm and keeps his back to him while he walks away. "I'll be on time for my lessons, Sir."

"See to it that you are. I'll be keeping you late. To make sure you don't wander off."

Kaito slams his door shut and locks it, palm pressed to the wood for a solid minute until he declares it safe enough for him to step back and collapse onto his bed. He runs his fingers over his face and sighs, frustrated that things are getting more and more tense and urgent. Heartland. Thomas and his cure. Haruto's state. All of it feels too heavy a weight for him to take on.  
There's no sobs and no tears, only a long exhale when Kaito rolls to his side and pulls the covers up from the corner to yank over himself lazily. Unchanged and unwashed, he lays there replaying the night in his head, remembering Thomas's warm body pressed to his own and how it felt to be momentarily not… him. Not a Prince or a master to a rotten crown. It stirs him, still, an involuntary reaction when he begins to think of other hands across his body. Would Chris's touch feel like Thomas's, or would it be softer from his unworked and civilized hands? How would it be to fee the contrast against his skin… furs that smell of the earth and silk sheets from the royal chambers. Incense and fresh linens.

_What a terrible time to be hard._  
Kaito inwardly groans to himself, reasoning that after an unpleasant interaction with Heartland there's no harm in trying to loosen his tight muscles. His fingers creep under the waistband of his trousers and he palms his hard cock, playing over the fantasy in his mind. Chris's smell of metal and pine needles and Thomas's lips on his neck. Every small touch and image that plays in his head sends hot flares down to his arousal. He pumps and squeezes and bites his lower lip while trying to stop himself from making any noise.

"Disgusting…."  
Kaito releases the breath he'd been holding and he stands to change his clothes, stuffing his soiled sheets and clothes under his other laundry. After a quick re-dress into his sleeping clothes, Kaito settles back down on his bed and places a hand over his eyes, sighing in frustration and exhaustion once more.

Tomorrow is a new day and Kaito's not sure he'd ready to face it.

"You better not let me down."  
He doesn't know who he speaks to. Himself. To Thomas or his family or - No, he knows.  
Whatever gods are listening he speaks to before he bites back on his words and lets out a bitter laugh.

"You already have."


	4. Three (Chris)

Rain pounds against the well-worn path leading from the castle to the forest, forming puddles in the imprints of horse hooves left behind. It's been raining in spurts for two days straight now and small breaks in the clouds promise that it may soon change. Chris thinks there's a reason for it. Grimly, he thinks that this fits the mood of the past few days. He hasn't seen Kaito since the other morning, sporting a deep bruise over his cheek and a split lip. Training accident, he'd called it, but Chris knew something was wrong. What that thing was… he couldn't say. Faker? Even though he ruled with a cruel hand would he strike his own son? It seems unlikely  
Chris shakes his head to clear his wet bangs from his face and he stops at the entrance of the forest, patting the side of his horse and urging him forward over the hidden path. He knows the forest well, having mapped out the ever-changing trees and what stone markers he could use to guide him. Though the latter half of trip takes place on foot, the destination is the same. When Thomas's cabin comes into view Chris carefully knocks four times and steps back with his hands behind his back. There's a long stretch of silence that greets him until the door opens a crack and Thomas's head of wild hair pokes through.

"You're late."

The door shuts, the locks slide open, and the door opens fully.

If Chris thinks back on things, and in all honesty he tries not to do so for very long, this strange relationship between them had always existed somewhere deep in the blood of their veins. They always had to sneak. Sneak food. Sneak visits. Sneak rides into the woods so Byron wouldn't know. The anger for his father's actions burns white hot as ever inside him but there's nothing Chris can do to reverse the damage. Damage done to a child with no control. If only Thomas had been born like him...  
Chris removes his gloves and reaches out for Thomas with no hesitation, cupping his cheeks and drawing their faces close to press a kiss to the space below each eye and then his lips. If only. If only he could change their fate... Thomas's sad fate.

"A prince is never late," replies Chris, trying to shake off the disillusioned memories.

"You're my brother, you twit. Sit down." Thomas wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and begins to tidy up some of his workspace. "I don't regard that man as my father or my king. You're just Christopher Arclight to me."

"I'm almost offended. I thought you at least appreciated me as a bed warmer." Chris slips his fingers back into his gloves and frowns when he looks down at the table he'd touched, noting the slight cracks on the surface. Nerves. "I have little to tell you. Not much has changed."

"You rode all the way out here to tell me you have nothing to tell me? I'm no master scholar but I'm fairly certain that's a waste of your time. And mine. Can't you see I'm busy?" Thomas motions to his workspace again and the tipped over bottle of beer and some other liquid that looks like an experimental potion. The cabin reeks of alcohol and pine… and some faint scent of…

"Is that maple?"

"I'm trying something."

"You're drunk."

"No I'm _elated_ there's a difference." Thomas takes the bottles and tosses them in the wooden crate by the table and bows low in a mocking fashion. "My dear prince, welcome to my humble home. Oh, please do grace me with your royal presence and bring such goodness to my dwelling. Please do - oops." Thomas picks up the furs he'd dropped and he places a hand against the table to straighten his back. "What was I making fun of you for? I lost my place."

"Funny. Sit with me, I want to talk." Chris pats the spot next to him by the fire and looks up at his brother. "It's been a while since we last spoke… a few weeks now?"

"Last time you were here was shortly after you became Faker's honoured guests," replies Thomas with a deadpan drawl to his voice. He settles in next to Chris and rolls his eyes. "So yes. A few weeks." His fingers reach across the fabric and he places them over Chris's rings through the thin gloves. "When did he stop you from wearing my stone?"

Chris's eyes drop and he pulls off his gloves again, revealing the the three rings and their stones. Green. Orange. And a gold band with Byron's crest on it. Once, there would have been a violet stone but Byron had ordered Chris to remove it. Thomas's place in the world was no longer with their family, as much as it pained Chris to admit. Byron was rejecting his son… a prince who could have been a mighty king.  
No place. No home.

_'She has no place here anymore.'_  
_'Thomas is my brother.'_  
_'You will not speak of… get out.'_

"You look uncomfortable." Chris watches the way Thomas sits and shifts in his seat as if he's having trouble getting a position in which he can properly breathe. His hands flutter for a moment and then drop to his waist. "Let me undo it. You've been wearing the leather for too long, you need to breathe, Thomas."

"Breathing is optional for someone with my magic," he mutters darkly while turning. "The second one you made me isn't very comfortable to wear under soft armour. It makes it hard for me to move and ride."

"I'll try again, then."  
Chris unlaces the piece of clothing that resembles a bodice and opens the back to reveal the angry red marks left on his skin, even bleeding in some places near his shoulder blades. "Do you have any ointments? I don't want this getting infected." Chris pauses and looks around. "And you will not bandage your whole chest, either. Last time you nearly passed out. We just need to get this healed up…"

"Top shelf by the work table." Thomas keeps his arms crossed over his front and looks over his shoulder. Chris leans in, placing a kiss to his forehead and standing to search for the ointment. The marbled jar of sweet-smelling paste is one he's familiar with. He remembers their mother using the same balm on their cuts and scrapes growing up. Funny, how not much has changed all these years in the most simple of ways. Her ribbons are still tied around the wooden dolls on the lower shelf and the oils smell like her perfumes.  
Thomas was always close to their mother. Much closer than he or Mihael had ever been.

Chris rubs the balm against the red marks and helps bandage Thomas, mindful when his fingers graze the front of his chest. "I'm sorry," he mutters.

"It's not like you haven't seen me before, you know." Thomas sighs and lifts his arms for Chris to finish his work. "This… husk of a body is just what I have to live with."

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"You have no trouble touching me when we fuck."

Chris's cheeks burn and he drops his hands after finishing his work with the bandages. "When you want to be touched, that's one thing. This is another." His fingers walk up Thomas's spin and take his shoulders, rubbing as gently as he can. "I want to treat my brother with the utmost respect."  
Chris drapes Thomas's furs over his shoulders and kisses the side of his neck, sighing in content when he gives in and leans back against him. Chris rests his chin on top of his head and sighs, his hands rubbing over his sides and up to his shoulders again. "We need to talk about it. About what our father is doing."

"He's_ your_ father. I have no blood with that… useless excuse of a man." Thomas nearly spits the word 'father' between his teeth, venom laced tight through his voice and coiling up Chris's spine. It was never any secret that Thomas despised Byron and all he'd ever been. As a child, Byron had never really grown attached to Thomas, often being distant with him and focusing his attention elsewhere.  
Chris didn't blame Thomas. He couldn't, even when he once tried. He'd tried for so long to protect his brother but in the end, Byron had exiled him regardless.

Chris still sees it. The sky at sunset, the colour of blood and black clouds hanging low over the tree line. Thomas… Thomas, just a boy, being dragged through the mud and the rain with a cloak over his head and his hands tied.  
Mihael, screaming. Chris, grabbing Byron's arms and demanding for him to explain himself and bring Thomas back. It rained all week and Chris stole his horse each day to ride out and find him… praying and begging for him to be alive.

_"The princess is dead."_

Chris snorts at the thought. Thomas had never been a princess in any sense of the word, stomping around in tattered skirts through mud puddles just to anger their father until he dressed him in tunics and trousers. Thomas using a kitchen knife to cut his long curls off and stealing clothes from the servants to go play in the gardens with his brothers racing after him. Thomas struggled all his youth with wanting to be, well, Thomas.  
Perhaps, in some ways, exile gave him the chance to be free of the life Byron had bound him to. But the cost… all of his life…  
This was hell and torment. Magic, a curse. He would know the cost of such secrets.

"Not much has changed. The prince continues to go up to the watchtower to see his brother and Faker tries to find ways to go to war with us. Father is seeking a means to mend our lands… He's said very little to me, truthfully." Chris frowns and plays with the edge of one of Thomas's belts hanging near the fire. "...I've taken to talking to him lately. The Prince. He's a good man. Rather charming, too."

Thomas tenses in his arms.  
"Kaito? The prince?"

"Yes."

"You're an idiot. Feelings will only complicate things if war breaks out. Protect your heart."

Chris chuckles and kisses Thomas's neck again. "Or maybe you just don't want to share your big brother. Do you like knowing only you get to taint the precious firstborn?" He ruffles Thomas's hair and takes his lips after a short pause, but Thomas seems off, somehow. Tense. "Do I have to ask or do you want to get right down to ravishing one another?"

"You just told me you're throwing kisses at the prince and now you want to fuck?"

"You're crude." Chris laughs to himself and sits back, letting Thomas crawl on his hips. "What I want… is to know you're here with me. Still, and always. I'm sure by new gods and old we are still sinners and martyrs… damned and broken and full of tainted blood." Chris rests his chin on top of Thomas's head and frowns at the opposite wall. "I'm rambling again why aren't you telling me to shut up?"

"I miss your useless chatter, unfortunately. It's a bit comforting to hear your voice again. You get bored with all these… other things in the forest." Thomas waves a hand lazily in the direction of the door and frowns. "Though yesterday I had to free a unicorn foal from a trap. Hunters are getting too close for my taste." Thomas pauses and brings his fingers up to Chris's hair, untying it from it's loose hold and running his fingers through the braid to separate the carefully plaited strands. "I've gotten so used to these… mundane things. Tired of the kings dogs in my traps."  
His eyes glaze over the row of bottles on the top shelf and his fingers still. "Sometimes I wonder if I should kill Byron. Dissolve their courts in such a manner. But the truth is that I have nothing to gain. I want no crown and no glory. I just want to hold his warm, wet heart in my hand and know I've destroyed him."

Chris sits in stunned silence, Thomas's words prickling every hair over his skin. "He's… He is your father and -"

"No. I am the son of a sorcerer who bedded our mother and don't tell me to think of him as my father. I won't. I want him dead."

"He is my father and you will not speak of him that way!" Chris tries to stand but Thomas's calm fingers in his air keep him sitting. Thomas begins to braid his hair again and it's unnerving. "How can you say such things without remorse?"

"I was barely a boy when he turned me to the wilds, do you think I should be sympathetic to a man I hate? Killing him would be for my satisfaction and nothing more. And even then, I don't know if it would bring me joy or simply add to the blood on my hands." Thomas lifts a finger to his lips and bites down on the nail of his thumb, sighing quietly. "My magic is only fun when I'm raising a little hell. I don't think I want to pay the price to kill anyway. I enjoy my good looks."

"Vain as always, I see." Still, his words make Chris's skin feel cold and unclean. To think someone of his own blood would...

"He's not a good man. I know he's done awful things. But… we can't blame…" Chris stops and looks over his shoulder at Thomas, meeting his burning stare. "I'm sorry. I can't -"

"_I'm_ the only one who owns the right to despise him. I'll be his judge and executioner and there's not a damn thing you can do about it." Thomas finishes up the braid and tucks it over Chris's shoulder, flattening it and frowning for a moment. "You don't get it. You really don't get it at all, do you? You get to live some… cushy, pampered life under his hand and I'm the one who nearly loses his fingers every fucking winter!"

Chris is used to this. The anger. Thomas bottles it up and he either explodes or lets it simmer out slowly in a way that makes Chris worry. Ever since he was young, something about Thomas was different. He'd always been afraid to get angry, until now. Now his anger was a bed of hot coals. Thomas sits in silence, thumb between his teeth while he grinds against the nail and avoids Chris's gaze. He was angry, yes - but Thomas also knew not to pick fights with his older brother.

"You think I'm pampered?"

"You'll be fucking the prince soon enough…"

"Are you sulking?" Chris furrows his brow. Thomas's curiosity and reactions to the future king were interesting. "He's not going to take me away. I don't even know if -"

"I don't give a damn about that. I just want you to be aware that this life is hell and don't you dare think you can even begin to understand. No prince of the Hatoasu wilds will make this life easier to live." Thomas continues to chew on his thumb, scowling at the wall. "I'm tired. You should go."

Chris kisses the side of Thomas's neck and places a hand on his hip. "You should be with us. You belong with our family." Liking rising hiccups, the fear inside Chris is raw and real. Something about Thomas is off. "I worry about you."

"I can kill a man with a leaf, a stick, and a bad mood. I wouldn't want you to worry. My magic is strong. Very strong." His eyes search the wall and Chris's heart freezes. The smirk that pulls at Thomas's mouth corners cuts through Chris and he sees the madness in his brother. The desire to wet his lips with fresh blood. As much love as he had for Thomas, he was still a Necromancer, dedicated to dark arts. And with it, there came… traits. Mannerisms. Things that still scare Chris even though it's been years.  
Chris fidgets with his gloves and looks down Thomas's back. When he was young, he took to finding dead animals and excitedly looking at books even Chris couldn't read. Yet Thomas chattered away and he would see the birds gasp back to life in his hands.. but it never lasted. Chris knows why now. That to restore full life, to breathe back the kiss of death, means to sacrifice another soul or rip out a piece of your own.

"I have a damned soul to give and no life deserves that."  
Thomas looks over his shoulder. "I know where your mind is going. Don't worry, I'm not going to kill anyone or raise the dead."

Thomas reaches back and takes Chris's hands, pulling his gloves off and receiving a cry of protest.  
"You spend so much time worrying about me and not enough about the fact you're going to go through the rest of your life wearing these fucking things."

Chris makes a grab for his gloves, but Thomas catches his hand and presses his lips to his palm, and then his fingers. Chris watches in horror as ice spreads over Thomas's lips and turns them blue and frosted. "I…"

"You have to be careful. You'll undo your own status if you can't hide this. How will you ever bed your prince?" Thomas cocks a brow and his tongue travels up the length of Chris's finger, which in turn makes Chris shudder (not in pleasure, but in horror) to see the blue frost form over his tongue.

"Stop… I'll hurt you."

"A bit of cold never killed anyone now did it?"

"Well, actually -"

"Sarcasm. Sarcasm, Chris." Thomas drops his hand and offers Chris his gloves. "You're not so different from me, are you?"

Chris's lips press into a thin line and he scowls at his younger brother. "I"m not like you. I'm not aligned to darkness. I didn't choose to be -"

"You think _I chose this?_ You think we actually have a choice? You're a glorified mage that borders on the barest of skills shown in child sorcerers. Byron hid your magic because he _loves_ you, because he wants his bloodline to_ live._ You don't have the right to lecture me. I was born into dark magic, as we all were. You wouldn't know what it means to align._ It's never a fucking choice_." Thomas's anger is at it's peak, and Chris's heart sinks.

"Thomas -"

"Get out. I'm busy."

Chris says nothing more, standing with a curt nod and leaving in silence. He mounts his horse and ignores the burning pain in his chest when he rides back down the long path. Thomas was right, and that's why it hurt. To know that yes, Chris lived with his magic in secret because he was the eldest. Thomas, the bastard of another man, was doomed from the start.  
But something sits uneasily in Chris's stomach. Aligning was a choice, wasn't it? Necromancers weren't just born.  
Were they? Chris doesn't like to think Thomas knows the answer.

Chris's mind still swims but those thoughts become sucked into a black void when he lays himself down to rest. Kaito, Thomas, Byron, Faker… too many players and too many stories to follow. Someone was hiding the truth.  
Not that he thinks very far into it when sleeps takes him in the early dawn. There's only one clear thought that lingers in the morning.

Thomas is dangerous.


End file.
